between a mosquito and a pigeon—mildly annoying, swat it if you can, but otherwise ignore it.
I glanced around the bar and noticed patrons and staff were filing out through the kitchen—had to be another exit.
“Just hit her with the tranquilizer so we can get the hell out of here,” IAA agent number two said, a contrast to crew cut, with dark skin, no hair, and falling somewhere in his midtwenties.
Tranquilizer? Yeah, I did not plan on sticking around for that. Besides, number one looked like he’d rather spend a few rounds beating me up first—you know the type— to teach me a lesson for not following the sting operation script.
Don’t think about the IAA logic too much—I know I try not to.
I licked the sweat off my lip and checked the bar out of the corner of my eye. I noted a jar of what looked like boiled eggs and garlic sitting on the bar within reach.
“All right, the hard way it is,” I said. I grabbed the jar and launched it at crew cut’s head.
You know what’s better than seeing an IAA agent slip and fall on a pile of dates? Watching one start an international incident.
Crew cut’s gun came up, and Arabic-voiced madness ensued. Everyone in concert seemed to dive for cover as a loaded-gun standoff ensued.
As bullets flew in both directions, I dropped to the floor and crawled after everyone who didn’t have a gun—the minority, in this case.
The route led through the kitchen, and I happened to pass what had to be the cooks’ tip jar. I stuffed twenty bucks inside. I know, it barely scratched the surface, but I wouldn’t have felt right not leaving anything.
Out of all the people who spilled out of the restaurant into the alley, no one gave me a second glance as they ran for their lives. I could relate. I was in a different alley—a little off course for the docks, but the hell away from the IAA—I hoped. My bigger problem was that I’d fallen behind the mob. I checked my phone timer. Twenty minutes left. I wouldn’t make it past them in time. I needed another route.
Behind the mob. Need another route to the docks, I texted Nadya.
The nice thing about text was Nadya couldn’t yell.
The dig site, came Nadya’s text.
Oh screw that. I dialed. “Nadya, no! I’m stupid, not suicidal—and they have guns that they’re shooting . . . at me .”
“They’re still searching for you in the riot, and Rynn says the mob is giving them logistic problems as well. They never expected you to beat them out of the dig site, and they won’t expect you to double back,” she said calmly.
I pulled up a mental picture of Alexandria as best I could. If I doubled back, I’d shave maybe ten minutes off my run . . . still, I didn’t buy the IAA leaving the catacombs unmanned.
I peeked out the alley again to gauge the mob, the bulk of which was now a few streets over, leaving only the stragglers, looters, and injured behind. “Oh you got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Alix?”
“Dig site it is,” I said as I watched three new suits moving amongst the mob stragglers. They were zeroing in on me again. One of them glanced my way. I ducked back out of his line of sight and swore as glass shattered above my head.
On the bright side, all I had to do was run like hell a few blocks past the catacombs and I should end up at the docks. “Keep me on the line and I’ll be able walk you through it,” Nadya said.
I fished the Bluetooth piece out of my pocket. “Just make sure you keep the directions coming. I’ve got no bearings over here.”
“There should be an alley coming up on your left; take that one.”
“Fine, great, awesome, alley on my left—” I turned left as instructed and skidded to a halt a few feet in. There was a collapsed wall blocking the way in the form of a pile of rubble . . . guarded by two chickens and a goat. The chickens ran for cover, but the goat just dropped the T-shirt it was eating and bleated at me. “Nadya, it’s a fucking pile of rubble with farm
I glanced around the bar and noticed patrons and staff were filing out through the kitchen—had to be another exit.
“Just hit her with the tranquilizer so we can get the hell out of here,” IAA agent number two said, a contrast to crew cut, with dark skin, no hair, and falling somewhere in his midtwenties.
Tranquilizer? Yeah, I did not plan on sticking around for that. Besides, number one looked like he’d rather spend a few rounds beating me up first—you know the type— to teach me a lesson for not following the sting operation script.
Don’t think about the IAA logic too much—I know I try not to.
I licked the sweat off my lip and checked the bar out of the corner of my eye. I noted a jar of what looked like boiled eggs and garlic sitting on the bar within reach.
“All right, the hard way it is,” I said. I grabbed the jar and launched it at crew cut’s head.
You know what’s better than seeing an IAA agent slip and fall on a pile of dates? Watching one start an international incident.
Crew cut’s gun came up, and Arabic-voiced madness ensued. Everyone in concert seemed to dive for cover as a loaded-gun standoff ensued.
As bullets flew in both directions, I dropped to the floor and crawled after everyone who didn’t have a gun—the minority, in this case.
The route led through the kitchen, and I happened to pass what had to be the cooks’ tip jar. I stuffed twenty bucks inside. I know, it barely scratched the surface, but I wouldn’t have felt right not leaving anything.
Out of all the people who spilled out of the restaurant into the alley, no one gave me a second glance as they ran for their lives. I could relate. I was in a different alley—a little off course for the docks, but the hell away from the IAA—I hoped. My bigger problem was that I’d fallen behind the mob. I checked my phone timer. Twenty minutes left. I wouldn’t make it past them in time. I needed another route.
Behind the mob. Need another route to the docks, I texted Nadya.
The nice thing about text was Nadya couldn’t yell.
The dig site, came Nadya’s text.
Oh screw that. I dialed. “Nadya, no! I’m stupid, not suicidal—and they have guns that they’re shooting . . . at me .”
“They’re still searching for you in the riot, and Rynn says the mob is giving them logistic problems as well. They never expected you to beat them out of the dig site, and they won’t expect you to double back,” she said calmly.
I pulled up a mental picture of Alexandria as best I could. If I doubled back, I’d shave maybe ten minutes off my run . . . still, I didn’t buy the IAA leaving the catacombs unmanned.
I peeked out the alley again to gauge the mob, the bulk of which was now a few streets over, leaving only the stragglers, looters, and injured behind. “Oh you got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Alix?”
“Dig site it is,” I said as I watched three new suits moving amongst the mob stragglers. They were zeroing in on me again. One of them glanced my way. I ducked back out of his line of sight and swore as glass shattered above my head.
On the bright side, all I had to do was run like hell a few blocks past the catacombs and I should end up at the docks. “Keep me on the line and I’ll be able walk you through it,” Nadya said.
I fished the Bluetooth piece out of my pocket. “Just make sure you keep the directions coming. I’ve got no bearings over here.”
“There should be an alley coming up on your left; take that one.”
“Fine, great, awesome, alley on my left—” I turned left as instructed and skidded to a halt a few feet in. There was a collapsed wall blocking the way in the form of a pile of rubble . . . guarded by two chickens and a goat. The chickens ran for cover, but the goat just dropped the T-shirt it was eating and bleated at me. “Nadya, it’s a fucking pile of rubble with farm
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